


People Like My Food.

by iwai_writes



Category: Original Work
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 08:28:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15166703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwai_writes/pseuds/iwai_writes
Summary: A man with a tasty barbeque stand in the bustling city.





	People Like My Food.

**Author's Note:**

> this is slightly inspired by junji ito

People like my food. 

They smile when I hand their small wax bag full of the barbequed goods on a stick with fried seafood tucked in. I sell barbeque sticks and fried shrimp with a relish dip for customers  - the smell of seasonings and oil in the air. This scent wafted through the streets, which beckoned and called for their arrival at my shabby stand. The food stand I owned wasn't too expensive or old, it just had what I needed to cook the food. My stand stood on the end of a bustling street that lit up with heat during the summer and the sun's glaring rays. Hot oil splashes and the heat doesn't help, so everytime I go out to my stand I wear a hat and a cloth over my face. 

Everybody flocks to me with questions about my food, their curiosity high along with their money held out. "What's your secret, Noritaka?" "How do you make this taste so delicious? It's just a barbeque stick!" "Reiji-san, how do you do this? Can you teach me?" I of course, decline to tell them saying it's a secret, but reassure them there's no MSG. When the day is ending, I begin to pack my foods and scraps. I put the oil I harvested into the car, and have one of my barbeque sticks while driving home.  

When I come home, it's empty and the humidity in the air is dense. The house is always dark and slippery, so I don't let anyone come into my small paradise. I take off my hat and the cloth goes with it, tossed to the couch and it rests there until the next morning. The amount of oil on my face from hard labour is incredible, it's almost a sludge. To calm down from the hard work, I sit down and have a drink from a bottle that sits next to my couch. I prop my feet up on the sludged-over table infront of me and watch nothing as I chug and chug. The more I chug, the more I feel relaxed. The more I chug and chug, the oil spills out from my pores, the bumps of acne littered my old man face. 

I continue chugging and chugging until oil is spilling out from my face, the pores widening from how much oil spills out. Some pimples get overwhelmed and so big-- they burst onto my gray oily tanktop. I set the bottle down and grab a spatula from the kitchen, then shove my face above an empty pot. I scrape it off my face, my arms and my legs. Watching it dribble into the pot and add up gives me a sense of pleasure. Not sexual pleasure, but more of a happy feeling pleasure. I don't stop until the pot is  nearly overflowing, but the oil gets even thicker on my skin.   
  
My fascination with my acne problem began in middle school, the year of puberty scratching at my face. I had alot of acne, no matter what I did, no matter what beauty procedure I chose at the spa, the acne would return and even stronger. Soon, my face looked like I was a needle holder with the amount of pimples that congregated with red around them. I was teased for it, as mine was not as weak as my classmates. Everyday they'd call me Akune Shonen around the school. Akune Shonen meant 'Acne boy', even the girls I liked sneered at my presence. I finally decided enough was enough. I discovered I could scrape the oil off my face with my elemenary school card, so I did this every night. 

Things were going too slow, I was getting heavily impatient with my adolescence face. I turned to the vegetable oil my mother had tucked away in the kitchen, and began to chug it while pouring it all over myself. It didn't taste good, but it didn't taste too bad. I began to chug the vegetable oil every night, the oils came fast and the oil was soon piling up on my face. Every morning, my mother would look for the vegetable oil with confusion, as a new big bottle was suddenly gone or found empty. She didn't question me as I had it hard already. When the time came for my departure gift with my class, I had made fried fish and shrimp with barbeque sticks. My departure gift existed because I was leaving for school in the country side. 

When they took the food without caring, I felt hidden joy burst in my chest. When they bit into my food with happy faces, their words of 'It tastes good!' 'Reiji-san, you're such a good cook! Your wife would be happy.' and such boosted my ego. I didn't feel sick watching them devour it and asking for seconds, I felt like my revenge was perfect. 

When I left the school that year, I didn't tell anyone about what was in the food.

No one knows about lonely Reiji Noritaka the streetfood stand owner's secret

No one knows about Reiji Noritaka's obsession.

Not a soul.


End file.
